My Son Said THIS.. and it Dropped Me

Lou wasn’t in Iraq yet. But he was up in Fort Drum, about 5 hours away, preparing to deploy. I was alone- again- with all four kids. They were ages 6, 5, 3, and 1. I was alone to mow the yard, clean the house, grocery shop, cook, clean, entertain and care for our kids on top of working as a Realtor.

I was not yet back in full health after a severe case of pancreatitis that had been so extensive it required multiple hospital stays, emergency surgical procedures, and immediate intervention when it impacted my liver.

We lived an hour away from family. I was beyond stressed, worried about my husband deploying, feeling alone, unqualified for my life, and even a little resentful that I was not able to experience life with my husband present, rather than on video calls.

I was, in short, indulging in a full-fledged pity party.

I was going to be late to the dog’s vet appointment if I didn’t get out the door right now.

One of my kids was in the van already, waiting to go. Two others were ready, jumping around and bumping into one another in what they thought was hilarious play but what my brain perceived as ear-splitting mayhem. My little guy was squirming around in my arms as I tried to slide his shoe on. Where was the dog?

Frustration grew when I realized the dog was nowhere to be found. She must have run off after a deer when the door was left open. I had approximately 90 seconds to get out the door now, if I wanted to be only five minutes late. Thoughts of throwing my hands up with a “*** it” mindset fled when I reminded myself I would get charged for missing the appointment anyway. And the dog needed some meds for the infection that had ballooned up around her stitches- from however she’d managed to impale herself the week before.

“No,” I scolded myself. “You will not cry. You got this. Suck it up, be a Big Girl, find the damn dog and get the kids in the van… MOVE IT!”

Ignoring the one tear that escaped before my self-adjustment, I tied my youngest’s shoes, whistled again for the dog, and looked down just in time to see my other son waddling out the door on feet encased in opposite shoes.

“Buddy,” I said in the best impression of patience I could muster, “Your shoes are on the wrong feet. You’ll have to switch them when we get in the van.”

“Mommy,” he came back at me in an almost precise imitation of my own tone, “I didn’t put my shoes on the wrong feet.. these are my feet!”

It took me a moment to process his reply. Was that condescension in his five year old voice, as he summoned all his patience to explain to me that those were his shoes, on his feet. Therefore I was wrong, and he was right.

I caught myself just in time. Before I snapped back at him to stop arguing with me already. To just get in the van and do what I told him to, because Mommy is falling apart and cannot take one more drop of stress.

His dad’s hazel eyes, tucked beneath ridiculously long lashes, stared solemnly back at me, waiting for me to grasp his logic.

My sons had no idea how hard I was struggling. How could they? Why should they?

They’d grown accustomed to daddy’s long trips with the military. Better than I had, that’s for sure. So much for the “It’s the National Guard, not the regular military, I’ll only be gone one weekend a month, and two weeks a year…”

Sigh.

In that moment, it hit me.

It hit me that I wasn’t living a sad, unfair life. It hit me that I’d come so close to missing the gifts my kids presented to me no matter what version of mayhem those gifts were wrapped in.

It hit me that children, if we allow them to, will take our hands and guide us right back to what matters most in this life.

My son, with his left shoe on his right foot, right shoe on the left, stood more balanced and firmly in his convictions and in shoes than I did in that moment. His gait may have been less smooth, his shoes may eventually be corrected, but he wasn’t going to let that stop him from running to the van and climbing in.

The dog reappeared out of the woods, leaping into the van behind the boys. If I hurried I would only be about 8 minutes late. That should be okay, because the vet was always behind schedule anyway.

Suddenly, I cared less about the dishes I hadn’t had a chance to put in the dishwasher, the sticky spot someone’s spilled apple juice left in my cupholder, the dog’s muddy feet traipsing all over the van. None of that mattered.

My life may have felt “crooked.” It may have felt like I was trying to balance it all out, but I was always “off.” But in that instant my son’s logic felt like it applied perfectly to my life..

This isn’t the “wrong” way it was “supposed” to be.. it was our way. It was the way millions of military families lived. One spouse left to manage life alone, while the other missing out on that precious chaos to serve our country.

The rest of that day followed pretty much the same recipe of chaos. But rather than allowing it to overwhelm me, it just made me laugh.

It was funny, what my son said. It made me laugh at how hard it was to argue with his logic, and how little he cared about what foot each shoe was on.

Done is better than perfect sometimes, I suppose.

Just a few weeks later, my doorbell would ring. I would be informed that my husband had been killed in Iraq. And that silly moment of insanity would be something I’d give anything to have back. Knowing I’d be able to call my husband and laugh about it later..I’d give anything to have my family whole again…

In the aftermath of our loss, my kids wound up offering up plenty more of those little moments that helped me reconnect with life and with them. They continue to stretch me to this day. Even though they are out of the house, living their own lives. They stretch my patience, my sanity… and my heart.

In my third book, What Not to Wear to a Murder Trial (and other tips tragedy taught me) I have a chapter titled “Little Leaders.” It shares more of the lessons my kids taught me, and what kids everywhere can teach all of us.

I’d love to hear some of your stories: How did something a young child said break through the BS in your own mind, to help root you in what matters most?

Email me that story, and I’ll share it on my Instagram :)